Dangerous Illusions (Steel Hawk Book 3)

by Sarah Ballance

  The picture on the display was clearly the woman from the café.

  Son of a bitch.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. He’d probably gone white as a sheet.

  He grappled with his options. He didn’t even know Sophie, but she was the closest he had to an ally, and he sorely needed to talk to someone about the turmoil in his private life. “Can I trust you?”

  Was it his imagination, or did she squirm a little? “With what?”

  He took a breath. He didn’t trust easily. “Something personal. I thought it didn’t have anything to do with this mess with Steel Hawk, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “If it has to do with the company—”

  “Then we tell Adam,” he said firmly. “Otherwise, I could really use an impartial ear on this.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “But not here. I’d like to take you back to my apartment.”

  The look on her face suggested things were no longer okay, but she stood anyway and grabbed her bag. “Do you have another tattoo to show me?”

  He laughed. “I hadn’t planned on taking off any clothes, but I like the way you think.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” she grumbled. But she fell into step with him and didn’t once try to make a break for it as they left the building. He led her to his car, then opened and held the door for her as she climbed in. “Nice ride.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t tell her how damned good she looked sitting in it—in fact, he wished he hadn’t noticed himself. “My apartment isn’t far.”

  When he pulled into the parking garage just a few blocks from Steel Hawk, she made a face. “You’re not kidding. This is walking distance.”

  “It is, but if I have to go to court or pick up a client, it’s nice not to have to hike several blocks in the heat to get to my car.”

  “Good point.”

  He hesitated, unsure how far he was willing to go with her. Not sure if he was reading her right. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you weren’t already familiar with my address. I figured I’d be ground zero for your investigation.”

  She blanched…or was that the fluorescent lighting in the garage? Dammit. Ever since he’d decided to open up to her, he’d been looking for reasons to back out of it. As if he could do that now.

  “I checked you out—as I’m sure you did me.” The words came easily to her, as if she expected nothing less. “I just hadn’t looked this up on the map. It’s a nice place, though. No cages around the elevators.”

  He laughed. “I should hope not. These apartments opened only a couple of years ago, and with the clientele to which they cater, I don’t think a vintage elevator would meet with much approval.” He hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor, and she whistled low.

  “Don’t let the address fool you,” he said. “It’s not as impressive as you might think. Actually, it’s a shoebox. Your hotel suite is twice the size, but there’s a nice rooftop pool that kind of makes up for it.”

  She scrunched her nose. “I’m having trouble picturing you hanging out by a pool.”

  “You’ve got me there. Not so much hanging out, but I do like to swim laps.” When he spoke, he realized his tattoo had seen the light of day more often than he’d implied, but he seldom dove in if the pool was occupied.

  “That explains the tan,” she murmured. “And the body.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked up at him, smiling, as he opened his apartment door. “Nothing.”

  Nothing, hell. He held out an arm. “After you.”

  It wasn’t until after she’d walked in that it hit him. Now that he’d let her in, he’d never be able to erase her from his space.

  He wasn’t sure he’d want to.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edward’s apartment looked as if it had been made for him. Every surface shone. A solid wall of floor-to-ceiling windows spilled light across the open floor plan, bathing the stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and an enormous flat-screen TV. The hardwood floors looked like they had an inch of clear coat on them, lending the impression her feet didn’t hit the ground. Leather furniture softened the effect without disturbing the masculine overtones, while a large area rug added warmth.

  “This is beautiful,” Sophie breathed.

  Edward had been watching her since she’d stepped into his space. She rather liked the feel of his eyes on her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling they’d crossed some kind of line.

  “Have a seat,” he said. He removed his jacket, folded it carefully over the back of a chair. “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  She shook her head.

  He joined her on the sofa and took a deep breath. “I’ll get right to it, then. About a year ago, I lost both of my parents in a car accident. A routine investigation into their deaths turned up the fact that their brake lines had been cut, but the investigation went no further. I still don’t know who would have done such a thing, or why.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she was, but the sentiment was paired with an edge of relief. If he was going to confide the details of that hidden file folder, they must not be indicative of any wrongdoing on his part. And if he shared the information with her, she wouldn’t have to hide that she knew. “Do you have any other family?”

  “No. It was just the three of us.” He looked at her a moment before he continued. “A few months later, I received an anonymous letter from someone who called himself a concerned friend.”

  “You’re certain it was a man?”

  He looked thoughtfully at her. “No. I guess it could be a woman.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “Just the line about being concerned, and with it was a newspaper clipping—an obituary for a man named Otto Zarrenburg.”

  She frowned. “Why would anyone send you a stranger’s obituary?”

  Edward shrugged. “I don’t know. I looked him up, but I didn’t find anything to answer that question. He’s a distant royal who worked in the castle. He wasn’t very well liked, but I suppose he was tolerated since they kept him around.”

  “Do you think this is related to what’s happening with Steel Hawk?”

  “Bear with me a moment. About a month later, I got another letter from the same person. This time, the topic of choice was illegal adoption. For a while, I didn’t give it much credence, but then I decided to see if the two were connected. It seems Otto was believed to have made a habit of selling babies. And…I have reason to believe I might have been one of them.”

  Sophie’s surprise was genuine. Her mind flew to the Zarrenburg document she’d found in his files and realized his suspicions made sense. “What makes you think that?”

  “My parents never told me I was adopted, but they were much older when I was born. I don’t bear a physical resemblance to either of them, and there are no pictures of me as a newborn. I never saw any when they were alive, and I haven’t found any since.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but she sensed a certain sadness in those words.

  “That definitely sounds odd,” she said, “but maybe there’s another explanation. Could your baby pictures have been lost in a fire? Or during a move?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. They lived in the same house their entire married lives, which dates back at least twenty years before I was born. Hang on. There’s something else I want to show you.” He rose and left the room, returning a moment later with a small box. He sat next to Sophie, closer than where he’d been before. “These are some of their personal effects,” he said. “My mom used to say she wanted to travel the world, but my dad hating flying. It was a running joke between them, how the closest she’d ever come to leaving the country was to walk into the ocean and start swimming.”

  As he spoke, he handed her something.

  Passports.

  “They went to Zarrenburg the year I was born.”

  Sophie looked inside, her heart plummeting. “Oh no.”

  “I don’t know why she
would have lied to me. It’s not like I ever asked if I was adopted, or if she’d ever left the country. Why make a point of saying she hadn’t?”

  Sophie frowned, the questions assaulting her as they must have him for months. “Maybe she was trying to protect herself. Or you.”

  He shrugged, but the gesture was stiff. “What she did was leave me with questions I can never ask—questions they’ll never answer. Even if they adopted me, that would never change the fact that they’re my parents. I can only assume whatever kept them from having children of their own must have broken her heart, but you can’t erase the truth by pretending it doesn’t exist.”

  Sophie’s heart ached for him. “Is there any way you can verify your suspicions?”

  “There’s one more thing.” He extracted from the box a document she quickly recognized as the damaged letter she’d seen on his computer. It was in a clear plastic bag, probably to protect its fragile state. “It appears to be some sort of birth record. The Zarrenburg seal is on there, as well as my birth date. And if you look closely near the bottom, you’ll see a word that looks a whole lot like Otto. I realize it doesn’t have to be Otto Zarrenburg, but someone wanted me to make the connection.”

  “Clearly,” she murmured. “Did anyone else know about this letter?”

  “Not to my knowledge. As far as I know, it was in my parents’ house until a few months ago when I finally got around to going through their belongings.”

  “It would be a stretch to think it a coincidence,” she admitted. “And with an illegal adoption, you’re not likely to find better proof.”

  “The question, then, is whether that has anything to do with the events at Steel Hawk. I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out how the two could possibly be connected. Despite the fact I can’t come up with anything, I’m not convinced. It’s a hard sell as a coincidence.”

  “What about money? Was Otto selling the babies?”

  “That’s the theory behind most illegal adoptions,” Edward said.

  She hated the resignation in his voice. It broke her heart. “Do you have your parents’ financial statements?” It was a long shot—especially going back over thirty years—but it was worth a try.

  He nodded, surprising her. “I have seventeen boxes of paperwork I haven’t gone through yet. My mom saved everything, so it’s entirely possible they’re in there.”

  Hope fluttered. “Are the boxes hard to access?”

  “Not at all. They’re in the bedroom.”

  “If you’d like, I can help you go through them.” In the bedroom. Brilliant idea.

  His thoughts seemed to mirror hers—at least if the slow walk of his gaze to her toes and back was any indication. “Are you sure?”

  “I am, but are you? They’re personal documents. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Actually, I’d be grateful. I’ve put it off too long, and it would be…nice not to have to do it alone. And I trust you to maintain my privacy.”

  She swallowed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He hadn’t any clue she’d already helped herself to his computer files. She had a feeling if he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be so free with this trust. A dull ache settled in her chest, and reminding herself she had an obligation to Adam—and to her job—did little to ease it. “After you, then.”

  He led the way to a smallish bedroom, most of its space swallowed by a double bed. She imagined most people in this zip code would have filled that spare room with an extra body to cover half the rent, but Edward wasn’t the type of man to share his space. As it was, he seemed to take up far too much of it.

  The boxes were inside the closet. “You would think anyone who would save all this stuff would think to label the boxes,” he said as he went in after them, “but no such luck. How about we take them to the other room so we can spread out?”

  “I think that would be a fantastic idea,” she said. Because sitting on that bed together was anything but. “You don’t have to go back to work today?”

  “It’s quiet around there, and they know how to reach me. I think we can all appreciate the value of getting to the bottom of this.”

  She helped him carry the boxes to the other room, then settled on the floor next to one of the stacks.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  “Do you have any bottled water?”

  “Sure do. Do you like turkey?”

  “Turkey bottled water?”

  “No. I have a turkey sandwich in here we can split. Lettuce, tomato, bread-and-butter pickles, and mayo. I picked it up at the café after I left your hotel yesterday and I haven’t even opened it.”

  “Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. Thank you.” She accepted the water and the sandwich, not realizing how hungry she was until she’d taken her first bite. The sandwich was delicious.

  The view was better.

  Edward sat a couple of feet from her, his back against the sofa. He’d rolled up his sleeves to reveal strong, tanned forearms. She wondered if he owned a T-shirt.

  “So where’s that other tattoo?” she asked.

  He painstakingly rearranged a piece of lettuce that tried to escape his sandwich before he answered. “That’s a dangerous road, Ms. Garza.”

  And dangerous roads made for dangerous subjects. She quickly switched gears. “When are you going to start calling me Sophie?”

  “I like aggravating you,” he said. “You wear it well.”

  “That’s your explanation?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  “It’s a bit…impersonal, is it not?”

  “Probably.” He licked a speck of mayo off his finger. “But unless you’re ready for things to get personal between us, I suggest you go with it.”

  Despite his warm, teasing tone, a delicious chill took a stroll down the length of her spine. She knew she should back away from the direction of this conversation while she still had a chance, but she couldn’t resist the question at the forefront of her mind. “So what happened between us wasn’t personal?”

  He sat there far too long, his arms resting on his knees and his gaze steady on hers. “Yeah, it’s personal. And that scares the hell out of me.”

  Me too. But she couldn’t say it. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect her to.

  “Any idea what we’re looking for in these boxes?” he asked. “I doubt we’ll find anything labeled Illegal Adoption.”

  “Bank statements,” she said. She polished off her last bite, then stood to take her trash to the kitchen.

  He handed her his napkin. “Thanks. The can is in the cabinet by the dishwasher. Do you really think they’d just have written a check?”

  She got rid of the trash, then kicked off her shoes and returned to her spot on the carpet. “Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. They may not have known the adoption was illegal. Legal adoptions tend to cost a fortune, and of course you’d want to write a check. That gives you proof of payment. And if they didn’t write a check, odds are they would have withdrawn a large sum to pay cash.”

  “So, bank statements,” he repeated with a grin.

  She nodded. “It’s a place to start, anyway. Anything that looks like a financial statement—not just their regular bank. They may have had a special account somewhere else.”

  They worked the next couple of hours in near silence, the stacks of boxes not moving. Sophie was beginning to feel like they’d never get anywhere when she stumbled onto something that caught her eye.

  “Edward?”

  “Yes, Ms. Garza?” Humor sparked in his eyes.

  She wished she could appreciate it. “There’s a cashed check here written from your parents to Otto Zarrenburg.”

  He took it and gave it a long look. “I don’t get it,” he finally said. “If he was into selling babies, why would he take a check?”

  She shrugged. “Who is going to report it? He certainly wouldn’t, and the adoptive parents are just as involved as him.” She was trying—and failing—to k
eep the facts at arm’s length. The truth was she cared about Edward, and this particular truth hurt. “Mothers sometimes give up their babies when they feel they can’t care for them as they should. It’s unlikely your mother would have known Otto wasn’t on the up-and-up.”

  “Or she just straight up sold me.”

  Sophie swallowed. “I’m sure she had a reason, and whatever it was broke her heart.”

  He held up the check, leaning back against the sofa to stare at it. “A thousand dollars. Hard to believe that was all I was worth.”

  “Maybe to Otto, but apparently you were worth a lot more to someone else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She withdrew another check from the stack. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “You’re kidding me. Back then, my parents didn’t earn that much in a year.” He took the paper. His throat bobbed as he stared. “Clara de Burgh.” The words fell from his lips in a whisper.

  “Does that mean something to you?”

  “She’s my mother,” he said faintly. His face had gone uncharacteristically pale, and though he must have read the name on the check a dozen times, he didn’t look away.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I did some research in Zarrenburg. I didn’t want anyone to know, so I kept it quiet. There was a list found in Otto’s papers after his death. Nothing was labeled, but if you knew what you were looking for, it appeared obvious enough.”

  “What was on the list?” If he’d dug around in Zarrenburg, it was very likely he’d made an enemy, but by then, Steel Hawk was already under attack. Unless the problems were a series of unrelated events—and she didn’t believe that for a second—something was going on before Edward went to Europe. The mystery surrounding the death of his parents seemed to confirm as much.

  “The list held a series of names and dates. One of the dates was my birthday, and the name next to it was Clara de Burgh. I suspected she might be my mother, but I guess that settles it.”

  He set the two cashed checks on the sofa so carefully, it was if he thought them fragile. Then he stood and walked to the wall of windows and stopped with his back to her. Beyond his shadowed form, the city sprawled—a sea of twinkling anonymity.